


Captured

by IMAgentMI



Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:33:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9659546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI
Summary: York and Carolina are captured and given an ultimatum.





	

York tried not to wince as the hood was ripped off his head, but nothing could stop him from looking for Carolina.  She was close, an arm’s reach away, if only his arms hadn’t been restrained behind him.  Her hair was matted with drying blood, her face pale, but her gaze was intense and alert.  Her eyes flicked over him, over the room, taking in everything, then lowered to the dirty warehouse floor.  

He probably wasn’t looking too good himself.  His face was swollen and throbbing from… well, he wasn't sure anymore.  A lot had happened, very fast and with a lot of pain.  He careful flexed against his restraints, counting each aching joint, which was pretty much all of them.  His bonds cut into his skin - it felt rough like rope - who the hell even used rope anymore? In the long term, rope was definitely a captor’s most stupid choice -  a couple unguarded minutes and any sharp-ish piece of metal or masonry could free you quickly, if you knew what you were doing. What was more frustrating right now was his power armour could easily tear it apart - but in doing so would break most of the bones in his arms and hands while shredding his skin and muscle to ribbons.

There was a lot of yelling coming up behind him.  York tried to look, but the soldiers in grey armour flanking him blocked his view.  The butt of a rifle struck his armour between the shoulders and he stumbled forward.  York dropped to his knees, leaning backwards to keep from pitching face first onto concrete. He heard the heavy sound of Carolina’s armour hitting the ground next to him, but managed not to look over to check on her again.  The argument behind them abruptly fell silent.  A young man with old eyes edged into York’s view, jaw clenched grimly as he took them in.  He was wearing armour, but didn’t have the look of a soldier.  His face was painfully thin, and he moved as a man on the brink of exhaustion.

“These idiots should never have brought you here. You should have died where they found you, with the twenty men you killed.  But you’re here now, and I cannot pass up an opportunity for information.”  He folded his arms, looking from York to Carolina and back.  York met his glare through a haze of pain, but on the periphery of his vision, he could just see Carolina kneeling next to him, her head still down.  “Clearly you are professionals. Elites. I won’t waste our time pretending that there is a chance you will answer anything willingly.”  Again, he looked back and forth between the two Freelancers, weighing them.  He made a choice.  

The young man gave a small twitch of his head, and on York’s left, a grey soldier raised his gun, holding it inches from York’s skull.  Heart pounding, York turned to look at Carolina, chest flooding with emotion.  But instead of fear, he felt relief that he wasn’t going to have to see her die, and a twist of guilt, that she would have to witness his own death.  The dim light that turned all else in the warehouse to grey still managed to illuminate her armour and her hair, the only two spots of colour left in York’s world.  Time slowed to a crawl as every detail seared into his mind with agonizing clarity.  The dried blood, brown against her hair’s vivid red, the curve of her neck as she kept her eyes focused on the floor, every new scuff, scratch and burn on her armour.  He saw her shoulders and chest rise and fall almost imperceptibly with every breath, he thought he could actually hear the sound of her breathing.  Probably not, but every sound in the warehouse was amplified to his ears in this moment - the footsteps of soldiers across the room, the fidgeting of men in armour behind him, the sound of metal on metal, of the building settling, the sound of small pebbles and grit kicked or crunched across the floor. 

“You have only one chance.”  York gave a start at the young man’s soft words - he’d almost forgotten he was there.  The man stepped closer to Carolina, addressing her alone.  “You give me the information I ask for, or he dies.”  York couldn’t hide a smile - the man had picked the Freelancer he thought would break under that threat, that choice.  He’d chosen the wrong soldier.  Carolina wouldn’t break, not for him, not for anyone.  And though he knew it meant his certain death, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of pride.  

York blinked as that sank in.  The man  _ actually thought _ Carolina would be weaker - York put aside his automatic view of the woman he knew and saw her with fresh eyes.  The bend of her neck, her downcast eyes - to a stranger, to anyone who didn’t know her, she looked defeated, beaten.  The man had missed the signs that York saw and knew - the little tells that showed her focus, intent, determination.  Carolina would not let someone see her as weak without it being deliberate.  

“I want to know who you are, who you work for.  I want to know why you’re here, how you found this location.”  York chanced a quick glance to each side.  Aside from the man holding a gun to his head, every other soldier near them was watching Carolina.  Metal nudged against York’s head, warning him to be still.  “Look at him.”  A second grey soldier stepped forward, seizing Carolina by the hair, forcing her head to the side until her eyes met York’s.  “We will get the information out of you one way or another. We’re getting good at that kind of thing.”  York would remember later how bitter he sounded, but right now, all he could think of was that he was going to die looking into Carolina’s eyes.  “He doesn’t have to die. There is no need to waste another life.”  Carolina stared at York, face expressionless.  “No?”  In the rolling silence that followed, York heard it again, that tiny sound of metal on metal, but this time he could hear it on the roof.

Carolina smiled.  

York looked up and the world exploded.  

There was a sound of breaking glass from above, followed by a sharp crack and the soldier holding Carolina went down.  York threw himself forward as a second sniper’s bullet blew out the back of his captor’s head, causing him to fire as his body spasmed with his death.  The shot clipped off the back of York’s armour as he landed flat on his chest and as he hit, there was an explosion behind him.  York raised his head in time to see Carolina already on her feet.  Their interrogator pulled a pistol but it was already too late.  One kick knocked it away and a second caught him in the throat, his eyes going wide as he fought for a breath that would never come.  

York levered himself onto his knees, got to his feet with some difficulty.  A whirlwind of purple and green ripped past him, South taking down two or three soldiers at a time with each burst from her SMGs.  Carolina’s kick had overbalanced her and York saw her come out of a controlled roll, momentum carrying her back upright.  Wash was standing only a short distance away, feet planted as though one with the concrete, turning side to side as he took down targets one by one with his rifle.  Outside there was the sound of serious destruction - probably Maine, but it could be Florida - sometimes it was very difficult to guess between the two, which was a little frightening if he’s honest.

A shared glance with Carolina ended with them both running for cover.  It was one thing to fight with your hands tied behind your back when your life is on the line, it’s another thing to do it when you have half a dozen elite soldiers fighting on your behalf - then you’re only a distraction and a liability. 

They ducked behind a metal shipping crate, and crouched there, listening to the sound of the firefight.  “So…”  York began, working his shoulders and wrists, trying to find some relief where his restraints were digging too long into his skin.  “That was close.”

“As soon as they took the bag off my head, I saw Wyoming perched up high, looking through one of the windows.  I wanted to give them a little extra time to set up - I figured if there was a gun trained on you instead of me, they’d be less likely to rush in prematurely.  We got really lucky that things played out the way that I hoped.”  Gunfire ended abruptly, leaving only booming echoes that lingered like smoke.  Carolina leaned carefully around the corner.  

The other Freelances were gathering in the warehouse now, Wash and Maine breaking off from the others, peering behind boxes and through doors.  Carolina stood to join them just as York realized something.  “ _ What do you mean if the gun was trained on me…??”   _ Carolina smiled back at him over her shoulder.

He stood and followed her out, but stopped short when he saw the interrogator still on his knees.  There were long scratches down his throat from his panicked attempts to find a way to breathe, but the marks were growing pale as his skin went blue.  South saw him and snorted with disgust, pushing him over with her foot, before turning to search through a crate.  There was one last crack of a rifle that delivered the man a more merciful death, and a crunch of glass as North dropped through a skylight, landing easily on his feet.  North’s visor followed his sister before he shook his head and hurried over to join them.

“You guys okay?” North pulled off his helmet and his glance passed over their faces, lingering at each spot of blood.  He turned Carolina gently by one shoulder, saw the rope binding her wrists.  “Wash! “

“Christ, I'm right here,”  Wash appeared at North’s shoulder.  “Don't yell.”  He caught sight of the rope, and without another word pulled out a knife and set to work. 

“We’re fine.”  Even as the words left her mouth though, Carolina turned to look at York, as though she wasn't totally sure.

“I'm good- handsome as ever.”  York tried to grin, but the swelling in his face made it difficult. 

“Yeah, pretty much.”  North’s voice was light, but his eyes were tight with concern as he examined the damage. “What happened?  You try some of your jokes on them?  Use one too many puns?”

“How in the world did you get captured so quickly anyway?”  Wash grunted, and the rope fell away.  Carolina rubbed at her wrists as Wash began work on York’s bonds.

“We dropped through cloud cover directly in front of an unscheduled convoy.”

“I got hit by a car!” York added cheerfully.

“We took out about half of the personnel unwise enough to leave their vehicles - “

“-but once we were forced into CQC, some asshole decided he didn’t care how many of his buddies he took out with us and tossed in a grenade.”  The rope fell away and York sighed in relief.  Wash sheathed his knife and disappeared through a side door.

“We didn’t take the full brunt of it, but it was bad enough.”  Carolina kept a close eye as York found a bare bit of wall to put his back against.  He tried to rub some of the pain away, but where the rope cut the deepest his skin was weeping clear fluid and stung like blazes.

“Well, on the bright side,” said North, taking in their surroundings, “they took you right to our objective site.  Very considerate.”  There was a crash that echoed through the warehouse and the sound of South and Wash swearing.  North sighed and followed the noise through the door.

“You sure you’re okay?”  Carolina didn’t look convinced.  

“Yeah.  But I think,” York stretched his neck and grimaced, “I want to sit down. Just for a little while.”

“Stay here and I’ll come back for you before we leave.  Maybe.”  She hovered long enough to catch his smile, then turned to follow North.  York let his legs fold up, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.  

The team worked quickly, searching the depot, gathering all portable electronic devices that might contain usable data.  South tore hard drives out of anything that looked like it had one.  Florida appeared and broke open crates, leaving the contents for Carolina and North to inspect.  Someone had already called for extraction, and Wyoming waited on the roof, as a signal and lookout.

The sweep was completed in less than five minutes, with 479er touching down shortly after.  When Carolina returned to get him, York was carefully leaning his face to the wall, letting it absorb some of the heat from the swelling.  He noticed she was wearing her helmet again and lit up.  “You found them?   _ Finally _ I can get the healing unit going.”

Carolina handed him a bag.  It made an unfortunate crunching noise.  “Sorry York, yours was...pretty thoroughly destroyed.”

“You’re kidding.”  York opened the bag.  The vizor was blown out, only a jagged amber edge left. It was scorched black, with gold only showing through in scratches. There were holes through the helmet, edges of metal puckering outwards.  “What the hell did they do to it?”

“No idea, but if I had to make a guess, I’d say a grenade.  I think you got blown up in effigy.”

“Rude.”  

“C’mon.”  Carolina held out a hand.  “We’re ready to go.”   

It hurt more to stand up than it had to sit down and every joint and muscle was adding its own little trill to a symphony of pain.  Despite his protests, Carolina pulled his arm over her shoulder and ordered him to lean against her.  She kept her other arm tight around his waist to support him and York was dismayed to find how much he needed it.  

Carolina led him through the warehouse and out a back door to where the Pelican was waiting. They made their way up the ramp, and York finally waved her off so he could take a seat.  The hold was nearly a quarter full of bags of possible intel and evidence, and as the Freelancers piled in, another one or two were added to the haul.  Florida and South were the last to arrive, and York could smell the accelerant, hear the rush of the fire they had started to cover their tracks and destroy the weapons stockpile they’d uncovered.  The hatch closed and the Pelican took off.  

Once they’d passed out of the planet’s atmosphere and into smoother flight, Carolina and Wash joined him.  Carolina removed her helmet and sat on the floor while Wash carefully parted her hair, searching for the wounds responsible for the dried blood that was now flaking off onto her armour.  When he found one, he carefully used a swab to disinfect it, and moved on.  Carolina sat with her eyes closed, occasionally hissing through her teeth at a particularly deep cut, but for the most part appeared to almost enjoy it.  York watched them, holding as still as possible, grateful for the calm ride in space.

When they were finished, Wash turned to York, grimacing as he examined his face.  He did a quick full body exam, checking for broken bones and other injuries, and wrote down whenever he found a spot that made York wince, or swear.  He asked a few questions, wrote down the answers.  By the time he was done, he had a full page of notes.  Wash sighed and rubbed at his eyes.  “I’m going to call ahead and let the med team know what’s coming up.”

“Sure, whatever.  But don’t forget to get me some painkillers before you go.”

“Um.”  Wash’s shoulders hunched, and York knew bad news was coming.  “No pain meds, I’m afraid.  Concussion protocol.  They could put you at increased risk of bleeding.”

York stared. “But it’s a six hour ride back to the Mother of Invention! And I don't have a concussion!”  Wash and Carolina shared a glance.

“York,” Wash said carefully, “Look at your head. Look at your  _ face _ . That many blows to the head, we're sticking to the protocol.”

Carolina came to Wash’s rescue.  “Go make the call.  I got this.”  Wash took off and Carolina patted the floor in front of York’s seat.  “C’mon.” 

York gingerly lowered himself to the floor as Carolina stood and disappeared for a moment, returning with emergency blankets.  She sat on the floor again and wadded up the blankets, using them as padding next to her leg and over her lap.  “C’mon,” she repeated, and York didn't resist as she eased him down.  He laid on his back, trying to find a position that hurt the least, and felt her run a finger gently down the swollen side of his face.  Carolina made a tiny sound, nearly a moan, as though she was the one who was hurt instead of him.

“That bad?”

“Your head looks like half a grape.”

“But I’m still handsome?”

“Yeah.  For a grape.”

That got a smile out of him, which was bad, because smiling  _ hurt.   _ Carolina wasn’t smiling though.  “After the grenade, I didn’t even have a chance to get up before they were on top of me.  I could see you though.  You killed another five before they took you down.  And once they did, three of them stood over you, beating you with their rifles, again and again..”

“My armour took most of it.” York cut in quickly, but Carolina shook her head, her finger stroking gently over his cheek again, the coolness of her hand pleasant against the heat.

“Not once they got your helmet off.”  She froze for a moment, her finger resting against his skin.  “Forget the warehouse, I thought you were going to die right there.”

“But I didn’t.” York tried to smile again and gave up - it hurt too much.  Carolina’s hand moved to his forehead, brushing along the edge of his hair.  York relaxed under her touch and closed his eyes.

“Wake up.”  Her voice was gentle, but the tiny smack on his uninjured cheek not so much.

He opened an eye indignantly.  “What was that for?”

Carolina’s eyes twinkled.  “Concussion protocol.”

“Wash!”

Wash’s distracted voice came from the cockpit.  “Hmm?”

“Is she supposed to be hitting me?”

Wash’s head appeared in the doorway.  “You falling asleep?”

“....maybe.”

Wash looked at Carolina and she smiled.  “Just practicing.”  Wash turned back to York with a grin.

“Actually, you can sleep.  We just need to wake up in a few hours, just to make sure you aren’t getting worse, showing signs of brain damage.  Well, more than your usual.”  He shared one more smile with Carolina and disappeared back into the cockpit.  

York fidgeted, trying to snuggle back into the blanket.  Carolina trailed her fingers over his forehead again, and he looked up at her.  “If you’re going to keep slapping me, I can think of better places for you to do that.”  That earned him a laugh.

“No more slaps for now.  At least, not for two hours.”  

York closed his eyes and fell asleep under her touch.


End file.
